


A New Beginning

by FayeC



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-06 18:11:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13416792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayeC/pseuds/FayeC
Summary: A short story of what happens after Retribution.





	A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This is a one shot to be read after the third arc of CI trilogy, namely Retribution for it to make sense. Previous arcs can be found under my works here :)

7 AM. Fei Long looked at the clock by the nightstand and buried his face once more into the soft, eiderdown pillow. He had been in that penthouse for two nights in a row, hadn’t left it for thirty-six hours to be precise. It wasn’t something he would usually do, or should do. There was work to do, his and surely Mikhail’s. On top of that he had to cancel a trip, reschedule several meetings he’d missed and the ones he was about to miss, which would affect his subsequent schedules for the entire week. All this meant that a lot of people would be looking for him now, not to mention the guards he’d posted downstairs since two nights ago, when he was supposed to return within an hour. It was irresponsible of him, and yet knowing this, he still couldn’t bring himself to leave. He had enough money to buy an island and live in it doing nothing for the next two hundred years, but no, he had to be stupid enough to put himself in a position where he couldn’t even take two freaking days off without giving himself a migraine. He wondered sometimes why he didn’t just hand the triad over to Yan. He was the legitimate heir anyway. 

Painfully, Fei Long checked the phone he’d muted since he’d entered the penthouse, expecting to see a hundred messages and missed calls, only to find himself raising his brow in a surprise. No one had called him, not even Yoh to find out where he was, which could only mean two things: either the world was suffering a zombie apocalypse while he was having a two-day sex marathon with Mikhail, or that someone had figured out all this and cleared his schedule for him. Fei Long sighed at the thought. He’d always hated being a foregone conclusion. He wondered though if it had been Feodora or Yoh who’d made such a conclusion that he would end up there, once again, in Mikhail’s arms, sleeping in his penthouse, changing all his plans from the influence of a man who had no memory of him whatsoever. Fei Long concluded that it was probably both. They must have known all along that he would never reach Shanghai. He could almost see the two of them grinning smugly at how inevitable this is, and suddenly felt like punching something or someone. Perhaps a particular blond-haired blue-eyed Russian would be a good start. 

He rose from the bed and groaned at the way his body ached all over from the vigorous exercise in (and out of) bed for almost two days straight — the result of Mikhail’s promise to do it all over again that Fei Long was equally guilty of wanting him to, or needing him to, to be precise. It had been a while, and he had to admit to craving it like he’d never craved anything in his life. But it was really Mikhail whose thrust had truly been unquenchable, having discovered more and more of the same things he’d already done that brought him to the same places he thought he’d never been. What a privilege that was, really, to be able to experience it all again like it had been the very first time—a privilege he didn’t share, to be precise, and it was making him feel more and more irritated now that he thought about it. Not that Mikhail hadn’t performed as brilliantly as he had in the past, but there was a certain excitement found only in first discoveries you usually don’t get twice. Well, Mikhail was getting it twice, while Fei Long was the one left with the anxiety whether this new Mikhail would live up to the old one. So far he had, but two years was a long time, and sex had only been a small part compared to what they’d shared.

He slipped on the same silk robe he’d always worn in the mornings after spending a night in that bedroom and headed for the living room. Placing his hand on the doorknob, Fei Long paused for a moment, remembering the picture he had seen time and time again on the other side of the door, and braced himself with the fact that it might never be the same again. It was something he had to deal with though, sooner or later. With that thought in mind, he drew a deep breath, yanked the door opened, and stepped into the room. He would not allow himself to waste anymore time being afraid of something that may or may not happen.

It didn’t happen. Not as he’d feared. Mikhail was sitting by the bar, as always, with a newspaper in one hand and a cup of freshly brewed coffee in the other. His curls were dangling disorderly about his face in exactly the same way Fei Long had remembered them during the mornings like this. In those days he’d turn around, smile, and say —

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Fei Long felt a wall rising behind his throat as he stood watching the same scene he’d seen a hundred times before. It was remarkable how little things could mean so much, and how ignorant one could be to not realize it until one faces the possibility of losing them. He must have stood there in silence for a long time and didn’t realize his expression had given it all away.

Mikhail winced and turned back to the bar, scratching the back of his head embarrassingly. “I’ve said that too, haven’t I?”

Fei Long could hardly suppress a smile. Mikhail was cute beyond words, to be honest. “Every damn time,” he said, walking over to sit next to the man by the bar. What did he expect? Mikhail was who he was, and missing two years of memory was not going to change it. That thought, however, gave him as much comfort as it did raise his anxiety. One has to wonder, what Mikhail had done in the past had been of love and what had been out of character. It was something he would find out, eventually. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel about it though. His own feelings were all over the place, and he’d decided to think bout that later.

“Well, sometimes it’s ‘Princess,’” he added.

“I was going to say that. It felt right somehow,” he said watching Fei Long picked up his coffee and took a sip from it, his blues eyes showing nothing but content at the picture, as always. “But I wasn’t sure if that would result in a favorable outcome or if you’d skin me for it.”

“You’d never seemed to care before.” Fei Long frowned. Mikhail had always done precisely what he’d wanted to do at any given time, and favorable or not the outcomes had always fascinated him somehow. That was one thing he didn't want to see changed.

The Russian snorted. “I’m guessing you’d never threatened to relocate before either.”

Fei Long put down the cup and sighed, knowing immediately the first problem they’d have to fix. “If we’re going to do this,” he said, showing concern in his tone, “you’ll have to stop tip toeing around me.”

Mikhail turned to him, took his hand and kissed it gently. “It would start with you promising to not run away.”

It felt warm, loving, and unquestionably right but somehow not quite the same. It was probably just him and his anxiety though. There was a lot of those, and the tip toeing thing might not have applied only to Mikhail. “I thought you said you’d chase me down if I did.” It was what the old Mikhail would do. The man he knew had never worried about a damn thing. 

Mikhail laughed at that. It was good to see him laughing again. “After the last two nights? I wouldn’t chase you down, I’d relocate myself to wherever you go,” he said with his signature playful grin. It was replaced, however, with a rather grim expression soon after. “Which would destroy my entire family, actually, and I would still do it, knowing this.”

Fei Long could tell it wasn’t a jest. Mikhail had thought about this. He had thought seriously about them even without those memories. “Because discipline had never been one of your virtues?” It never had been, and once more Fei Long thought perhaps it had never been love that had pushed him to do all the reckless things he’d done in the past. It was just who he was. 

“That,” he nodded, “and because I would never be able to get you out of my mind to function responsibly as the head of the family.” It wasn’t spoken in a cheesy way. Mikhail had never been cheesy or tried to be. His direct ways of saying shameless things as naturally as discussing a restaurant menu had always been enough to flatter Fei Long like no one else could. But then again, that was also how he was to everyone. 

“When have you ever acted responsibly as anything?” In a way, Fei Long had to suppress a laugh at that and had expected Mikhail to laugh too at that insult. The old Mikhail would have laughed at it, wouldn’t he?

He didn’t. 

“Now,” he said, his tone suddenly rigid and constricted. “My brother is dead. My father’s health is unstable. I am all that’s left.”

Fei Long realized then what had brought change to the man who’d always been so reckless and carefree. Mikhail was the head of the family now, with Vladimir in his sick bed and Feodora carrying the last of his line. He was also the only heir now that Alexei had died. But Fei Long could tell that wasn’t as much a burden as the fact that he’d lost his only brother, that Vladimir had lost his most favorite son, and his entire family was depending on him staying strong and doing what was right for them. This was enough to change a man, even Mikhail, without having to remember everything that had happened in the past two years. There was too much at stake for him to ignore. Mikhail could not afford to chase him. He would have tried though. God knows he would have tried. He knew the man and had loved him for it. He also knew that Mikhail had shown this side of him for a reason, and likely only in front of him. That said a lot about the familiarity and trust the man somehow still felt around him. It made Fei Long realized then how much Mikhail needed his support.

With that thought, Fei Long squeezed the hand that was still clinging to his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Mikhail smiled and kissed his hand again. There was something unsettling in the way he looked though, and it told Fei Long there was something else on his mind.

“I’m not sure if you knew,” he said and paused as if afraid to continue but understood that he must. It was one of the things Fei Long had always loved him for — his unfailing courage to face the ugly truth most people tend to avoid until it becomes unavoidable. “Feodora is carrying my child.”

It must have been hard for Mikhail, having no memories of them, not being able to guess how Fei Long would react to this. It was hard for him too, Fei Long admitted, not knowing what Mikhail would do given the circumstances. He was certain of the man’s decision before the memory loss. He wasn’t quite certain now. “I know,” he said calmly. Mikhail was probably trying to tell him something difficult, and all Fei Long could do was to brace himself for it. In the back of his mind his head was spinning with all the possibilities. What if he wants to be an official part of that family? What if he decides to go back to Feodora? To raise his child in Moscow? What if —

“You don’t mind?”

Fei Long’s jaws dropped at the question he wasn’t expecting. Mikhail looked genuinely relieved, and he saw those strong shoulders relax, like a weight had just been lifted. “That’s what you’re worrying about?”

The man blinked a few times, confused. “There is something else I should be worried about?”

Seeing the innocent look on that face made him realize he’d completely forgotten who Mikhail was. The issue of Alexei’s death was one thing. This was entirely another. He realized then what was on that face wasn’t a difficult decision the man had had to make, it was simply guilt — the guilt of cheating on him with his wife to be precise! It was utterly adorable. “You’re kidding, right?” He said laughingly, resisting the urge to ruffle that golden mane of his and mess it up even more than it already was. “It’s your baby. The little Mikhail Arbatov with your gorgeous blue eyes and adorable golden curls I can kiss and hug and squeeze all day! Why would I mind?” He was already gushing over the kid just imagining it. They would have to make some form of agreement with Feodora to let him have the baby over on a regular basis. Mikhail should have a say in it as a father, shouldn’t he?

Mikhail stared at him in disbelief for a second, and then concluded that pouting was the correct response. “Why do I have a feeling you’ve never done that with the original Mikhail Arbatov?”

Fei Long snorted. “Because every time I begin to do it you stopped being so adorable and ended up fucking me senseless.”

Those blue eyes looked at him then in the way that suddenly made him hard. “I could be adorable,” Mikhail said, rising to his feet and pulled him close with an arm around Fei Long’s waist, “but then you’d rather have me fuck you senseless, admit it.”

“I do,” he said taking a sip from the coffee just as Mikhail leaned over to kiss him, on purpose, of course, “but right now I’d rather have you make me another coffee and breakfast. Preferably naked. Then I will kiss and hug and squeeze you all day,” Fei Long told him, feeling glad to see the Mikhail he knew returned as he stood, wrapped in those strong arms and being showered with desire and affection from those blue eyes once more. 

“Have I done that before?” Mikhail asked, suddenly curious.

“All the time.” That, was his first blatant lie. It felt pretty good actually. He supposed he’d learned some things from the bunch of Arbatovs after all. 

***

The funny thing was, Mikhail did do it, and Fei Long ended up wanting to kick himself for not realizing how much domestic household chores looked good on him, naked. He’d also ended up doing what he’d promised after another exhilarating exercise later that morning. There was no reason good enough to resist it, and he didn’t feel like looking for one. 

Mikhail was now lying with his head on Fei Long’s arm, looking like a baby as his curls were being stroked by his lover. His lover seemed an appropriate term now when it wasn't before. He thought of how much easier it was — and how strange — to call himself that way now than when Mikhail still had his memories. There was too much guilt, too much hurt, and it felt too dishonest to define them as simply lovers. The past had too many things going on for them to just lie next to each other like this, without feeling a single guilt doing it. He could find a thousand wrongs with this picture back then. Right now he probably could still find some, but he didn’t need to. He didn’t want to deny himself anything any longer, knowing how easily it was to lose everything. 

“I can imagine being used to this,” Mikhail said, his own fingers wound softly around Fei Long’s hair. 

Fei Long smiled. “If that’s an attempt to get me to move in with you, don’t even try,” he said, as he’d said many times before, only then he felt the need to add, “not yet anyway. You have a long way to go to get to know me.” He’d decided he deserved to enjoy the man wooing him again. Those were among the best memories he’d had. Only this time he could be a bit more agreeable. 

“Then let’s go somewhere,” Mikhail said. “Somewhere I’ve taken you. Where did you like the most?”

It was a simple enough question, one whose answer was equally simple to Fei Long. There was a time, a place where he had almost felt like this — that everything was all right, that there was no one else but them in the world. “Guess.” He knew Mikhail would not remember any of it, but Fei Long wondered if he could tell, if that place had held meaning to the man beyond their time together. 

Mikhail looked at him, thought for a moment, and said, “The log home. By the lake?”

“With a stopover in Moscow,” Fei Long nodded, “I would like to see your father.”

***

It was the end of winter, or the beginning of spring, depending on how one saw things, or needed to see things. There was still some snow in the large garden, but melting away even as he looked, bringing into view the filth underneath what was once so white and pure. The landscape had turned brown and grey — an ugliness that was somehow necessary, a period of transition before flowers bloom and life begins again. Change was never pretty. Most of the time there were messes one needed to clean up to have a fresh start. 

It wasn’t different from what was in his heart, or what was inside the house, Fei Long thought as he looked at this change of season from the window. He was back in Moscow, standing in a ballroom full of memories — a space once occupied by so many, now empty and hauntingly quiet like his father's old house. The lavish decorations were always useless in a room full of ghosts. Fei Long wondered if change would reach the inside of the house, and how many seasons it would take, if ever. Some ghosts tend to linger and occupy a space for a lifetime. 

He turned to Mikhail who was standing beside him, saw the man sweeping his gaze around the room and realized the emotions he was feeling were being shared, and likely being felt much more strongly. Mikhail had grown up here with countless more memories in this very room. Memories with Alexei in it, perhaps even his mother. Fei Long knew how that felt. He had returned to his father’s estate many times, and the emptiness in it had always left a hole in his heart, even when his past had not been one full of joy. Mikhail’s, as far as he knew, had been filled to the brim with more warmth and affection than Fei Long had ever received from his own family. He didn’t need to see them together to know these things. Mikhail would have never known how to love so fiercely, if he had not been loved that way. And there was also Alexei — the brother whose bond with Mikhail was something even Fei Long could not break. Alexei was gone, and would forever be missing from that room, or any room in the house — an absence, a void more solid and permanent than his presence had ever been. Mikhail would see that void, always, and everywhere whether or not he ever remembers the cause of his brother’s death. It happens when you give someone a permanent place in your heart. You risk losing that chunk of it forever when they’re gone.

Fei Long reached for Mikhail’s hand, squeezed it and held it there. He didn’t know if it would help. It would certainly have had memories of him not been lost. That was part of the pain Mikhail’s amnesia had brought to Fei Long — the feeling of uselessness to someone he had come to love beyond measures. He used to hold so much power over the man by his side, that even the slightest smile had meant the world to Mikhail. Now he wasn’t so sure. 

Mikhail turned to look at him. The smile that followed had been gentle when he raised Fei Long’s hand to his lips and kissed it lovingly. It did help, Fei Long realized, if only to distract him from the ghosts in that room.

“You have been here,” Mikhail said, more to confirm his guess than in a form of question.

With Alexei, Fei Long bit back those words. “I have,” he said with a playful smile in an attempt to change the mood. “You ran away, and I had to chase you down.” It wasn’t quite far from the truth, now that he thought about it. He had come for Mikhail, and so many things had happened as a result. So many things the man by his side might never remember.

“Why did I run?” Mikhail asked, more amusingly than to dig for something ugly he probably knew was there. 

Why? Fei Long thought for a moment, and concluded, “I was being a prick, and an idiot.” He couldn't see it then, but it was crystal clear to him now. 

“Aren’t we all?” Mikhail said, his eyes shifted from the Chinese man to gaze around the room once more. Fei Long could tell he was thinking of his brother, perhaps of the things he’d done, and regrets he could no longer amend. He didn’t let it linger for long though. Mikhail was not someone who had a tendency to dwell in self-pity. He confronts his problems, adapts, deals with things, and moves on, most of the time faster than he drives. He never forgets though. The man remembers everything, and has mastered the art of utilizing them when needs to, to his advantage, of course. 

Having successfully moved away from those thoughts for the time being, he turned to Fei Long. “You have met my father.” Again, it was hardly a question. His intuition was as sharp as always. 

“He hates me.” Fei Long made a face at that exaggeration, although he wasn’t entirely sure it had been one, given what Vladimir had done to them. 

Mikhail laughed. He was glad to see the man could still laugh so easily in such a place. “It’s probably not you. My father disapproves of most things I do.”

“Especially me,” he replied, more seriously this time. It occurred to Fei Long just then, hearing the affection so clearly in the tone he used, that in all Mikhail’s rebellious actions towards his father, the man had always been aware of Vladimir’s love behind those ugly decisions his old man had made. 

“That is what you are here to fix?” Mikhail asked. 

“I am here to try,” Fei Long nodded, “to put an end to things, and tell him something I should have done a long time ago.”

“It would make you happy?”

“It would make us happy,” Fei Long squeezed the hand he was holding once more, “if I succeed.” Us. He had stressed that word. From then on it was no longer about him, it was about them. Mikhail needed to know he was in this too. He was family, not someone who still needed to be chased down or pursued. Whatever burden he carries from now on would be shared and eased. It’s what you do when you love someone — you make the world revolve around two people, not one.

Mikhail smiled gently before his expression switched to sport his signature, playful grin. “You make it sound like you’re asking him for my hand in marriage.”

Fei Long returned the gesture with a malicious smile that would easily qualify him as an Arbatov. “Considering your dowry, that is one hell of a temptation, I have to say.” 

***

The head of the Arbatov family was a man in his late sixties. He had been handsome and strong for his years with a presence that commanded absolute obedience in Fei Long’s memory. 

The man lying on the sumptuous bed before him was a different man.

Vladimir looked like he’d aged ten years in the course of two, or perhaps just in the last few months after the stroke he’d had recently. The large, king size bed made him look so small and fragile, and those were words one would have never used anywhere near a man like Vladimir Arbatov, whether or not you knew who he was or were terrified by his reputation. His overwhelming, suffocating presence had disappeared completely, and Fei Long found himself looking at an ordinary old man, not on the verge of dying, but one who was simply waiting for his days to end.

It was heartbreaking to see, in every sense of the word, knowing who he was before.

Alexei was his father’s most favorite son, Mikhail had told him a long time ago. He was the center of gravity in the family — the one face that brightened the room whose presence brought laughter and a sense of normality to their corrupted, bloodstained world. And he had looked like his mother — the woman who had been the only reason Vladimir had never remarried, or so Fei Long was told. His brother was spoiled rotten, Mikhail liked to say, by his father, Feodora, and even him. Fei Long couldn’t blame them. It was hard to say no to the younger Arbatov, harder to not love him. He could see why Alexei’s death had collapsed the very foundation of the family, just as his life had strengthened it after all this time. How, Fei Long thought, does one replace such a loss?

With a heaviness to his heart, Fei Long moved from the edge of the bed to sit on the chair by the old man’s side. Vladimir opened his eyes, looked at him for a brief moment, and closed them again. There was no surprise in his gaze. Mikhail had come in earlier and told his father of Fei Long’s wish to see him.

“Why are you here?” Vladimir asked coldly, his voice sounded more tired than angry. He didn’t look like he had the energy to be angry. Fei Long had expected it as much, being the one person who should never be permitted to enter their home again, after what had happened to both sons, after what he’d done to them all.

“How are you feeling?” Fei Long asked, ignoring the unwelcome gesture and gave him a smile.

“I’ll live,” he replied, opening his eyes to look at the ceiling as opposed to the visitor, “unfortunately.”

“For you or for me?” He had to ask. 

The old man’s lips quirked up into a sardonic smile. “For both of us,” he said. “No father should live long enough for his son’s funeral, and you would have preferred to see me die.”

That, too, Fei Long had expected. Anyone in Vladimir’s place would be bitter. He would have been too. But he wasn’t there to simply be on the receiving end of that bitterness. “On the contrary, and I’ll be frank with you,” Fei Long said, leaning back on the armchair, “people die young in our profession. You are blessed beyond words to be able to live to see the birth of your grandson. And no, I wouldn’t have preferred to see you die. There’s no love between us, that’s true, but it would hurt your son,” he paused for a moment, watching the old man’s expression in hope that his words would remind him something important, “the one still living, if he means anything at all.” 

In a way, he was slightly angry at Vladimir’s statement. He was father to two children, three if one was to count Feodora. There should be a limit to how much a parent favors one child over another. Mikhail needed his father, now, more than ever, and Fei Long wished that Alexei’s death had simply clouded his vision, that he would realize this before more damage was done. 

Vladimir turned to him then, his eyes narrowed sharply as if trying to catch something from Fei Long’s expression. “You think that I no longer have a choice but to approve your relationship with my remaining son. That’s why you have come, for my surrender?”

Fei Long could hardly suppress a smile of genuine admiration for the man. One could easily think of him, looking so old and fatigue on his sickbed, as a retired mafia lord already deprived of venom and wit, and it would be a deadly mistake with Vladimir Arbatov. The man could still work things out from just a few words, and quickly too, only he wasn’t exactly right in this particular case.

He shook his head slightly. “I’m not here for your approval,” he said flatly, “I’m here, most of all, for your forgiveness.” He placed a hand on Vladimir’s arm and hoped that it would be allowed for him to show the sincerity of his words. To Fei Long’s relief, the man didn’t move and was watching him from the corner of his eyes, waiting to hear what he needed to say. The head of the Arbatov family had always been a reasonable man by reputation — one that rarely allowed his emotions to dictate his actions — which was why he’d survived for so long in their world and had been feared by so many.

“I took Alexei from you,” Fei long said, taking a deep breath to the sudden hollowness in his chest saying it. “It was my fault to lead him on, knowing the danger he would be thrown into, knowing that you, Feodora and Mikhail had always tried to keep him out of all this.” He paused and continued after he registered the steady rise and fall of the old man’s chest. “But I want you to know that he was happy that morning, and while it’s not the same feeling I have for Mikhail, I did love him. Your sons have been a blessing to my life, and the failure to protect them both was my mistake.” He wrapped his fingers around the frail and wrinkled arm that felt like his father’s and allowed his tears to fall. There was no shame in crying, not for Alexei, or what Mikhail had lost because of him. “Forgive me,” he said, asking for something he knew he himself could not give had he been in Vladimir’s place, “I should have been a better man for your sons.”

And he would have, had he not been so blinded by his own grief and regrets, had he been able to let go of the past and not lost focus of the present, of what he’d been holding in his hands before allowing it to be taken away out of carelessness. He could have protected them both. He could have —

“That you should have been,” Vladimir said icily, his sharp, blue eyes fixed on Fei Long’s, cutting deep as if to leave a scar. “I can’t give you my forgiveness, not from hearing how sorry you are, what you think you should have done, or the man you feel you should have been.” There had been no sympathy in his gaze, and none in his tone. “But I will ask you again, Fei Long, are you here for my approval?”

It was then that Fei Long realized something he should have had the last time he was having a conversation with Vladimir in this very estate. The man had asked him a question two years ago — one he’d never answered. He wondered why he couldn’t see it then when it was so blatantly obvious. He had been given a test, a chance to prove something that would have changed everything from that moment onwards had he been aware of it.

Are you willing to go that far for him? Vladimir had asked before telling him to let his son go, and he had let Mikhail go instead of giving him one simple answer he should have given. All their lives would have forked a different way had he been able to do it. Alexei might have been alive had he understood the look in Vladimir’s eyes that day — the look of a very understanding and loving father, for his own son.

He was being given another test now, one he must not fail, could not fail.

“I’m not here for your approval,” Fei Long said with a firmness to his tone that matched his grip on the old man’s arm. “I will have Mikhail, no matter what you say. I will go as far as it takes to have him, to be with him, even if that means going to war with you or anyone in this world. This I swear on my father’s grave and Alexei’s.” The words felt natural on his lips, like they had meant to be spoken all along, and had just been withheld for no good reason at all. “I will be a man who deserves your son.” This time things would be different. He knew now the road he would take, where it leads to, and with whom he would travel. He didn’t need anyone’s approval, because with or without, it would not affect his choices. Never again.

Vladimir’s eyes softened, though he didn’t smile. A father who’d just lost his son wouldn’t be able to smile for a long time. “You are now.” The nod was so slight that Fei Long would have missed it had he blinked that very moment. He felt like blinking now, for the tears that began to pool in his eyes again. “As long as that rings true,” he said, as always, with an expression no one could read and a tone that revealed little of what was in his heart, “you have my forgiveness.”

It was as far as he would go. Vladimir Arbatov was not someone who gives his emotions away so easily to strangers, and Fei Long was still very much a stranger to the man. There would be no blessing from him, not now anyway, not until Fei Long was accepted as family. It would take years if not decades for trust to be gained. This, after all, was a man who loves his family so fiercely, who had just lost one son — the most favorite one — because of him.

“Thank you,” Fei Long said and smiled. “I want you to know Mikhail’s family is my family, no matter what you think of me.” He squeezed the arm he was holding once more and this time it felt warmer than before. “So don’t die yet, old man, because I want you in it, for a long time.”

Vladimir closed his eyes and turned away. Fei Long noticed his lips moved a little as he rose to leave and waited. “As long as you don’t count me as your father,” he said, “I might actually live longer than those two.”

Fei Long laughed, and for a moment that lasted too soon, he thought he saw Vladimir smile before he drifted off to sleep.

xxx

He closed the door softly behind him, feeling the weight on his shoulders being lifted as he did. It was the one thing among many he felt he had to do first, for Mikhail, for them.

“How did it go?” Mikhail was leaning against the wall near the door, waiting for him.

Fei Long smiled playfully. “You mean did I get his permission to marry you?”

“Shouldn’t you ask me before you ask my father?” Mikhail said, wrinkling his nose as he spoke. Fei Long thought he looked so young when he did that. It had been a while since the last time they’d had such a carefree conversation.

“Would you have said yes?” Fei Long asked, walking over to the man. He reached up to tuck the loose curl behind Mikhail’s ear, remembering how many times he’d wanted to do it and didn’t. He’d always needed an excuse to play with those curls, he didn’t need one now. Not anymore.

“It depends,” said the Russian smugly. 

“On what?”

“Whether you’d be willing to get down on your knees,” Mikhail grinned, flashing his white, orderly teeth.

Fei Long snorted. “You really don’t remember me, do you?” 

Mikhail laughed. “To be honest, no,” he said and slipped an arm around Fei Long’s waist, drawing him closer. “But I like what I’ve learned so far.”

“You have much to learn,” he said, leaning in to feel the warmth he’d been missing for some time and still hadn’t had enough for the last few days. “I wonder though, now that you no longer have to chase me, if you would be bored after a while.” It was a thought that had been bothering him for some time. He knew Mikhail, and knew from the very beginning that one of the things that had made the man so infatuated with him was the fact that he was someone unattainable. The man, being who he was, could never ignore a good challenge and the adrenaline rush that accompanied it, and Fei Long knew a part of the excitement of being with him had been from the chase itself. The question was, how big that part had been in their relationship, and how much of it had been love? A scary thought, to say the least. 

Mikhail looked at him thoughtfully for a while. Fei Long knew from that expression that it was more a matter of figuring out how much it was actually bothering him, rather than to find the right words to answer. Mikhail Arbatov was someone who had never needed to find the right words. He was too confident, too reckless for that. 

“I can’t answer that question,” he said after a moment of pause, “any more than you can promise you wouldn’t be bored with me, ten, twenty years from now.” It was just like that. No promises. He didn’t even try. “I am a man with many interests, and I do get bored easily. I also don’t live for tomorrow, I live for today. You would already know this, if you really do know me.” He brought up his hand and rubbed his thumb gently on Fei Long’s cheek. “And I’m telling you I like this very much right now.”

It was strange how those words could tug at his heart so relentlessly. A sweeter man might have said something more romantic, or given him a promise that would do nothing to quiet the warning signals in his head. Mikhail was always straightforward, if not brutally honest sometimes, when it comes to his feelings, which made it all the more flattering when he tells you something sweet, knowing it’s never out of obligation or pretense. Fei Long knew the man could easily dump him the moment he gets bored with no guilt whatsoever, the same way he could shout ‘I love you’ at the top of his lungs in public without shame. It was who he was, and it wouldn’t have made a difference if he’d asked the man that question before he’d lost his memory. He’d always known nothing was ever certain about being with Mikhail Arbatov, nothing was ever safe about it. But then again, nothing ever is in life or in love. You would have to be a fool to live for happy endings. Happiness is found in the journey, not the end. You take what you can today, and keep it for tomorrow. 

“Right now isn’t very much of a promise, is it?” Fei Long narrowed his brows as he spoke.

“Right now happens,” he said. “Tomorrow sometimes never comes. I can promise anything you want to hear, but then life would be boring, and whatever happiness I bring you from now on would be expected, when it should be a gift you get to open every day. Unless, of course, if you want to hear it in any case.”

Once more, Fei Long couldn’t suppress a smile. It was true. Considering Alexei and everything that had happened, life was truly a gift, why cheapen it with promises? “I don’t want to hear it,” Fei Long said. “But you should know there’s nothing to stop me from hunting you down should you decide to run out of boredom.” There’s also that possibility. After all, Mikhail had never quit trying no matter how many times he’d said no, and his dedication, once he’d set his sight on something, was no less than the Russian’s. “And a certain Japanese man would tell you that you really, really don’t want to be hunted down by me. Just to let you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I’m guessing that’s your old flame?” 

“Sort of.” Fei Long shrugged indifferently, a little surprised that he could do it so easily at the thought of that man. 

“And I haven’t killed him?”

“You tried.”

Fei Long could see from the frown that the failure didn’t sit well with Mikhail. 

“Why do I feel like I should keep trying?”

“Oh, you could kill him now with a push of a button, courtesy of your wife. Long story,” he said and gave the man a devious grin, “or we could make his life miserable together. That would be much more fun, wouldn’t you say?” It would actually be much more fun, now that he thought about it. Mikhail would probably come up with so many things he could never think of to mess with Asami. His hands were actually itching just thinking about it. 

Mikhail smiled and pulled him closer, planing a soft kiss on his temple. It was warm, and it made his toes curl. “Together?”

Fei Long nodded. “Together.”

They kissed for a long time in that corridor. It didn’t feel like the first time — the first time was full of uncertainty and fear on his part — nor was it filled with desire as it had always been in the past. It was a kiss they shared for the sake of it, because they could, because they both wanted to, and Fei Long knew for sure he would soon be addicted to this. It might be the only thing certain about them right now, and it was all right. Given their profession, they might not live long enough to see the day when this was no longer true anyway. Either way, Fei Long decided this was something he would get to keep in the collection of what makes his life worth living, along with the memories Mikhail had lost, of Alexei’s smile that morning, of his father’s hand on his hair, of everything the future would bring from that moment onwards. 

It was the new beginning he needed — to be able to look at life from a completely different perspective, to leave behind the scars and get ready for new ones, like shedding old skin and starting anew.

xxx

It was cold in the garden, and there was still some snow on the branches of the big tree. There had been so much snow once on those branches and on the ground the last time he was there. The evening was colder then, and Fei Long remembered the weight in his heart as he walked through the snow that night. It was the first time he’d been introduced to Feodora. He remembered how beautiful she had been. He also remembered the bet he’d had with someone equally beautiful — someone who had ended up gaining a place in his heart, leaving a sizable hole in it when he’d died. Fei Long looked up at the branches of the old tree and closed his eyes, recalling the events of that night, the words spoken, and the way those green eyes looked at him then, when they were alone in that garden, under that tree.

“Still think you’re a curse?”

Fei Long stiffened at the sound that came from behind — a voice he had come to know by heart that shouldn’t be there, that he should never hear again. He stood pinned to the ground, too afraid to turn around, afraid that it would be gone if he did. Whether or not it had been just his own imagination or his memories playing tricks on him, he wanted it to stay. 

“I killed you,” he said and realized his voice was trembling. It might have been from the cold or the lump in his throat that suddenly materialized, and he could control neither. 

Alexei laughed. It sounded so real, like the last time he did when they were in Mikhail’s penthouse. “I knew you’d be the death of me from the first time I saw you,” he said, his voice smooth and playful, not so different from what Fei Long remembered. Not different at all, actually. “Probably Mikhail’s too,” he added.

Blunt and inconsiderate, Fei Long thought and smiled to himself. It was genuinely Alexei. “Is that why you had come?” He asked, recalling the confrontation they’d had with Toh and a certain encounter with someone who shouldn’t have been there, “to save him?”

“You can tell him I paid my debts,” Alexei said, and Fei Long could imagine the smile on that face then without having to turn around.

“He’s lost all those memories,” he replied, “of the scars. It would not make sense if I tell him, not now anyway.” Somehow he had a feeling Mikhail would one day remember all of it. He would remember to tell him then of this night, of what Alexei wanted him to know. “He has also forgotten me. Can you imagine?” He didn’t know why he’d said it. Who in their right mind seeks comfort from a ghost? But comfort was what he needed in the matter, and Alexei had been someone who knew them both. He was also someone who belonged in those memories — an evidence that they’d ever happened at all — and Alexei, too, was lost. 

“Fei Long,” he called with the same tone he’d used that morning in the penthouse just before he’d died, when they were talking tea and coffee, and Alexei was sitting at the table with his hair all messed up from the way he’d repeatedly run his hand through it. “Turn around.”

It wasn’t an easy thing to do. He wasn’t afraid of what he would see. He was afraid of what he’d do if he did see the man, of how his heart would react to seeing him again. But he did turn, painfully, to see what was behind him.

Alexei was there, standing handsomely in the suit he wore that night in the garden two years ago. He was smiling one of those smiles that had quickened Fei Long’s pulse many times in the past, and his emerald green eyes were as bright as they had been when he was alive. It was difficult to see the man as a trick of his imagination, or as a ghost. He looked real, and alive enough to touch. 

“I‘ve always thought you looked good in that suit,” Fei Long said, his voice shaken beyond control from trying to holdback his tears.

Alexei rolled his eyes and stepped closer to him. “And I thought you’d preferred me naked.”

Fei Long found himself laughing at that, despite the ache in his chest. “I liked that too,” he said. “Just don’t tell Mikhail.”

Alexei smiled. He was standing just an arm’s length away now, looking at him with both hands hanging lazily in his pockets. “So,” he said, “he has forgotten you?”

“Everything about me.” Fei Long smiled ruefully. “Gone. Just like that,” he said and added, “just like you.”

“Am I?” Alexei asked, frowning as he did. “Gone?”

Fei Long held his breath at the implication. His heart raced as Alexei drew closer and reached for his cheek. He saw the long fingers touched his skin and felt himself shaking when the contact was not felt. The only thing he could feel was his own tears he had failed to hold. “I can’t feel you,” Fei Long winced at the pain that suddenly increased tenfolds in his heart. It was one thing to know he was gone, and another to to stand there and experience it. 

“You can feel me,” he said rubbing his thumb over the tears that ran down Fei Long’s cheek. It did nothing. He felt nothing. “You know my touch. You remember it. I know you do.”

It was wrong to remember, Fei Long thought, but he couldn’t say he didn’t. He closed his eyes, imagined those hands on him, and realized he could still feel it. He could still feel Alexei even now. 

“I am not gone, as long as you remember me,” he said leaning over and planted a kiss on his forehead, and Fei Long trembled at the way he could feel those lips now out of thin air. Alexei’s hand caressed his cheek and ran through his hair. He closed his eyes and felt that too. It wasn’t entirely physical but it was certainly felt, he could sense Alexei standing there, touching him again. “Everything that had happened is not gone. It doesn’t have to be. You can remember it, imagine it when you need to.” He paused for a moment and smiled. “Like you imagined me.”

Fei Long nodded, sniffing as he wiped his tears. “I shouldn’t be imagining you.” He really shouldn’t, but then he couldn’t really say that he wouldn’t. Alexei was not someone you can forget even if you want to. 

“Don’t worry,” Alexei grinned, “it can’t possibly hurt if he doesn’t remember a thing, can it?” 

Fei Long rolled his eyes. “Dead or alive, you’re still an asshole, you know that?”

He shrugged indifferently, as always. “Dear or alive, I’m still me. But since you already think I’m an asshole,” he said and suddenly leaned over.

Fei Long closed his eyes once more and allowed himself to feel the kiss that would linger a long time afterwards on his lips. He supposed one last time doesn’t hurt, especially when it might be the last goodbye. 

“Take care of Mikhail,” he whispered as he drew away. “Be there for me to catch him when he falls. Tell him I’ll watch over him, always, as he has watched over me.” 

He found himself alone when he opened his eyes again. Alexei was gone, but not really, not so completely. He could remember the man, could imagine him if he needs to, the same way he could imagine Mikhail and everything that had happened between them in the past two years, the same way he could still feel that one last kiss long after Alexei had disappeared.

“What are you doing out here?” Another familiar voice sounded from behind.

Fei Long turned around to see Mikhail standing not so far away, holding a scarf in his hand. “I just needed some fresh air.” 

He stood still as Mikhail wrapped the scarf around him, and realized from the way those blue eyes scrutinized his expression that he wasn’t quite impressed with the answer given. Fei Long saw him parted his lips to ask and pressed them back together, letting it go. He looked up at the tree when he was finished with the scarf, his golden curls moved softly in the wind as he fixed his gaze on a branch.

“This was Alexei’s favorite tree to climb when he was little,” Mikhail said with a melancholic smile that slowly turned into a more affectionate one as he continued to look at the tree. “He fell once and broke his arm. Dad never let him go near it ever since.”

“Let me guess,” Fei Long smiled imagining it, “he still did.”

Mikhail gave him a sidelong glance, hesitated for a second, and decided to ask, “You knew him, didn’t you?”

It was a risky subject that might have stirred some unwanted memories, but something about that night told him it was all right to talk about Alexei, and he did owe them both that much. “He got me into your house.”

There was a slight pause, followed by a look Fei Long had come to know when he was working things out in his mind. “It was more than that, wasn’t it?”

Fei Long looked at him and decided not to dodge the question. “You know your brother.”

Mikhail drew a breath, held it for a moment and exhaled in defeat. “I know my brother.”

There would be time to tell him all the details, if Mikhail ever asked, and when he was ready to hear it. Just not yet, not now. Fei Long wrapped his arm around his lover’s waist and urged him back towards the house. “Let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.”

Mikhail nodded and walked with him. He halted a few steps before they reached the door and looked back towards the tree, pausing momentarily as he fixed his gaze on a certain branch.

Fei Long couldn’t help but smile then, knowing why. “You brought him home.”

“In winter,” Mikhail said. “He’d forever haunt me for it.”

He took Mikhail’s hand in his and squeezed it assuringly. “Let’s hope he does for a long, long time.”


End file.
